


30 Days of Fluff

by cosmogyrals



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Ant-Man (Movies), Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 20,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyrals/pseuds/cosmogyrals
Summary: An ongoing (April 2020) collection of fluff featuring far too many ships from the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Howard Stark, Samantha Wilson/Peggy Carter, Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, T'Challa/Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tony Stark/Hope Van Dyne, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	1. Getting Lost Somewhere - Sam/T'Challa

**Author's Note:**

> In quarantine and back on my multishipping bullshit, y'all. This time, with something a little more...non-porn.
> 
> (okay we all know there will be fluffy porn at some point)
> 
> Still featuring Too Much Sam Wilson (there is never enough Sam Wilson)
> 
> General prompt list found [here](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9b/97/e0/9b97e057e61a7966ca5c3c3e755bb630.jpg), though I may sub in other prompts as necessary.

The problem with being a city boy was that once you took him out of the city, Sam Wilson was more or less goddamn hopeless. Sure, he'd had wilderness survival courses as part of pararescue training, and if you dumped him in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the clothes on his body, he could probably survive if he really had to, but that didn't mean he was going to like it. Wakandan cities weren't the same as New York - they were cleaner, with a wholly different style of architecture that somehow seemed both more organic and futuristic at the same time - but they were still full of people, and that was enough to make Sam feel at ease.

He couldn't say the same for the literal jungle that surrounded him right now. "Do you know where we are?" he asked T'Challa. The other man, of course, seemed utterly at home here, as he did anywhere in his country.

"I learned my way through the jungles as a child," T'Challa scoffed, dismissing Sam's anxieties out of hand. It was hard to picture the composed, urbane king running around the trees as a child - but, on the other hand, it was hard to imagine T'Challa ever being a child. The few pictures he'd seen all had a solemn young man in formal clothes staring at the camera, often with a much younger Shuri making some kind of face in the background. (Some things never changed, apparently.) "I know exactly where we are."

Okoye rolled her eyes where T'Challa couldn't see her, but Sam could. That probably wasn't a great sign, as far as not being lost went. At least they had Okoye, though; if nothing else, Sam figured that everything in the jungle had enough sense to not attack a Dora Milaje with a spear - and she probably had more survival skills than the other two combined. She definitely had more common sense.

Two hours later, and Sam was still utterly miserable. He was drowning in his own sweat, and the only saving grace was that the kimoyo beads they all wore emitted a high-pitched noise that kept the bugs from eating them. (He'd had enough mosquito bites from trips to visit relatives in Georgia - and from living in DC - to last a lifetime.) On the bright side, they'd actually managed to locate one single sample of the heart-shaped herb to transport back to the palace to cultivate.

But they were still lost.

"Think of it as a camping trip," T'Challa told Sam, with a cheer that was so bright that Sam knew he was faking it just to irritate him. "Americans like camping, don't they?"

"No," he retorted stubbornly, wrinkling his nose. "Not this one. I like indoor plumbing and kitchens and air conditioning."

"Spoiled." He nudged Sam in the ribs, and this time his smile was more genuine, the teasing flicker of a grin that only Sam ever got to see.

"Man, you're an actual king, where do you get away with calling me spoiled?" Sam made a face.

"You're both spoiled." Okoye threw the carcass of a wild pig onto the floor of the cave they'd found. "You had to have me hunt and butcher your dinner for you. Spirits know what you would have done without me."

"Died a horrible death lost in the wilderness," T'Challa intoned solemnly. Sam had used Okoye's knife to whittle sticks down to sharpened points, and he stuck chunks of pork on it to roast over the fire.

Once they were finished with dinner, Sam and T'Challa curled up in a dry corner of the cave, and Okoye began her first watch. T'Challa took the second watch, and it was close to dawn - on Sam's watch - when he heard rustling in the bushes.

Sam looked down at the spear he held. He'd had all kinds of martial arts training, but absolutely none of it had involved polearms of any kind. 

"Hello?" he called out, in the off chance whatever it was happened to speak English.

"You guys ready to be picked up yet?" Bucky pushed his way out from the bushes, and Sam considered stabbing him anyway, on general principle. "Or is T'Challa still wooing you?"

"What?" Sam furrowed his brow.

"He said something about how getting lost would be romantic - though I gotta say, taking Okoye along woulda killed the mood for me." Bucky shrugged. "The kimoyo beads have a tracking feature. You don't really think that the king of Wakanda would get lost in his own jungle, do you?"

Sam tightened his grip on the spear. "I'm going to fucking murder all of you," he growled, just as he heard the faint sounds of laughter coming from the cave.


	2. Pet Names - Scott/Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is more awful puns than pet names. I'm so sorry, everyone.

"Ready for me to sip your nectar, honeybee?" Scott gave Hope a sultry look from in between her thighs, and Hope, unfortunately, just burst out laughing.

(She did that a lot when she and Scott were in bed. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing - Hope's life needed more laughter all around, and the way he made her laugh was one of her favorite things about him.)

"Too much?" He raised his eyebrows, planting a tender kiss on her thigh.

"Way too much," she agreed. "Especially the nectar thing."

"I thought it was a great comparison! You just don't appreciate my genius."

"Bees don't have nectar, flowers have nectar," Hope felt obligated to point out. "It doesn't even make sense. And I'm not a bee, I'm a wasp."

"Wasps are nothing but wanna-bees."

Hope scooted out of reach and threw a pillow at his head in one swift move. "If you don't stop with the puns, we are not having sex ever again."

"Ouch, that really stings." He dodged another pillow. "You don't need to be so snob-bee."

"I just don't get what all the buzz is about." Hope groaned. "See? It's catching."

"Oh, that's bad." Scott looked solemn for a moment. "Next thing you know, you'll break out in hives." He crawled back up next to Hope and caught her face in both hands, kissing her forehead.

"I don't bee-lieve you," she muttered under her breath.

"Forgive me, bee-loved?"

"I told you that you needed to cut your ant-ics out." Hope smirked up at him. "But you had to keep being defi-ant." 

Scott snorted and flopped onto his side. His fingers roamed over Hope's bare skin as he pressed closer to her again. "There's no need to be so ant-isocial, Hope. I was just trying to up the ante, that's all."

"I hate you." But she kissed him anyway, her lips curving into a smile against his.

"Don't be like that. You know you're my only Hope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed a wasp in my laundry as I was dropping it in the washer. I decided the best action was to close the lid and start the machine anyway.
> 
> Now it's a washp.
> 
> :)


	3. Patching Each Other Up - Sam/Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I got sidetracked by angst, but it gets fluffy by the end, I promise!

"You're a goddamn idiot," Sam chastised Steve. "I didn't come along with you just so you could ditch me and try to take out an entire Hydra cell on your own." Which was just what he had done, and Sam wasn't just mad because Steve had gotten hurt, but because he felt like Steve didn't see him as an equal partner in this. 

"Could you save the lecture for the morning?" Steve flopped back on the cheap motel bed, ignoring his wounds and Sam's clear intention to minister to them; Sam had already dug the first aid kit out of his bag. Sure, the serum made sure they would heal faster than usual, but Sam didn't think that meant Steve's injuries should go completely untended.

He sat gingerly down on the edge of the bed, his fingers trailing along the side of Steve's hand before he began to clean a large cut on Steve's bicep that still bled sluggishly. "No." And although Steve tried to pull away, Sam held firmly onto his wrist. "You're gonna sit here and listen to me bitch at you while I patch you up, because apparently that's the only thing I get to do."

Steve's jaw tensed. "Did it occur to you that maybe I don't have the best track record for putting my friends in danger? That we're trying to find Bucky because the last time I dragged him into something that was over his head, he fell off a train and ended up like this?"

"It's my choice, Steve." Sam looked down at him, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Hell, being a PJ isn't safe, but I put my life on the line constantly. Willingly. And that's what I'm doing now." When Steve and Nat had shown up on his doorstep, he'd known immediately that he needed to help them. It was something he'd felt in his bones, and he felt the exact same way about this. "But I can't help you if you don't let me." It went deeper than simply going off without him; Sam wanted Steve to let him past the emotional walls he'd put up, wanted to be his friend, rather than the guy who followed him around. He knew the friendship between them was genuine, but those walls were second nature to Steve. He could see the way emotion warred in his eyes for a moment before it flickered and simply vanished, and it made Sam worry.

"You got out of everything for a reason." Steve's voice was quiet. "And you let me drag you right back in."

"I-" Sam hesitated, and his hands stilled. He'd known this conversation was inevitable, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. "I was falling apart when I left the service, Steve. More than that, I was already broken. Losing Riley- I had six weeks left in my deployment, and it was the longest six weeks of my life. I spent months putting myself back together when I got home. I couldn't work at first, couldn't do much besides sitting around my parents' house and going to therapy. It took me almost a year to find my way back to normal, or something like normal."

Pushing himself back up into a half-sitting position, Steve reached out for Sam's free hand, but stopped just short of touching him. "You were shellshocked."

"Yeah." Sam huffed a wry laugh under his breath. "That's how I ended up becoming a counselor - I mean, I'd wanted to do something along those lines anyway, helping folks out. But my own experience led me into specializing in working with vets with PTSD. And you know what? It never really goes away." Hell, if anyone in the world knew that, it was probably Steve Rogers. "You have nightmares about Bucky, I still see Riley falling sometimes when I close my eyes. I know exactly what it's like, Steve, because I've been there, and the last thing I want is you shutting me out."

"I can see where you're coming from," Steve agreed. "But, Sam..." He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath as Sam began cleaning a cut on his neck with delicate fingers. "Sam, if I get hurt, that's-"

"That's okay, 'cause you don't matter. 'Cause it's what you deserve for all this. I know what you're thinking, Steve." He was closer to Steve now, the fingers of his free hand woven into Steve's hair. "It's that Catholic guilt of yours. It's fucking self-flagellation, except you think it's okay because you aren't the one holding the whip. It's not okay. It's not your fault, and even if it was, Bucky wouldn't want you getting yourself hurt because of it." Sam wanted to bury his face in Steve's hair and inhale the scent of him, wanted to hold him close. He wondered if Steve knew that.

Steve flinched at the sharp accusation, but he didn't pull away from Sam. "If I get hurt, I'm ready to go in a day. I'm like a tank, Sam. You aren't. You aren't built to handle these things."

"Bullshit." Sam made a face. "Do you even fucking know what pararescue training is like? Eighty percent of trainees wash out. They call it superman school, 'cause we're like superheroes by the time we're done. I was trained to rescue in any type of terrain. I can fight armed, unarmed, up close, from a distance. I had a survival course, a course in airplane dives, and paramedic training. I spent more time in a pool than anyone outside the Navy, and probably more than a lot of guys in it. And I don't normally brag about this, but frankly, to be selected for a special program, I had to be the best of the best. I have more combat training, special training in agility and acrobatics, and even a crash course in physics. I can strip my jetpack down and rebuild it. I had to fix it myself in Afghanistan. You wanna find someone more qualified to pull your ass out of the fire, then be my goddamn guest, Rogers. Just 'cause I don't have wings right now sure as fuck doesn't mean I'm useless, and I'll personally kick the ass of any Hydra asshole who thinks otherwise."

Steve twisted in his grip and suddenly, without warning, lunged to kiss Sam. Their lips met with bruising force, and although the kiss was clumsy, Sam could feel the desperation and built-up emotion behind it. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, parting his lips as Steve's tongue delved into his mouth.

"I always love it when guys are overcome by the sexiness of my resume," Sam murmured against Steve's lips when they paused to catch their breath.

Steve snorted. "I mean, it was pretty hot. Though it'd be hotter if you could do that thing Natasha does with her thighs."

"I will never be able to choke a man with my thighs, Steve." Sam rolled his eyes. "Though if you wanna get up close and personal with them anyway..." God, yes, he wanted that more than anything else, but he didn't want to scare Steve off.

He made a face and reached up to stroke Sam's cheek. "I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt, Sam. That's what scares me. I've lost so many people that if something happened to you-"

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly. "I know. I know, 'cause that's how I feel about you."

"Oh." Steve looked surprised, like he hadn't considered the possibility of his feelings being reciprocated. "Is that why you came along?"

"I came along because I wanted to help you." Now Sam took one of Steve's hands in both of his. He turned it palm-up, ran fingertips over the lines of his palm. "Because we're friends and partners and that's the kind of thing we do for each other. It's not charging in without backup because you're too scared I might get hurt in a fight, it's fighting together because we're stronger than we would be alone, 'cause I'm the guy who always has your back. Because you need someone to tell you when to stop, to remind you that you're only human. To remind you of how human you are, and that it's okay to be hurt, it's okay to have feelings. But I can't do any of that if you don't let me."

Steve closed his hand around Sam's, and they sat there for a moment, Sam still close enough to Steve that he could feel the heat radiating off his body. "It scares me, Sam," he admitted finally, softly, like it was something to be afraid of.

"Yeah, well, that's kinda how it works." Sam knew that all too well. He'd spent years trying to keep from forming connections like the one he'd had with Riley, and then Steve Rogers had gone and dropped into his lap, and he'd been doomed from day one. "You'd be stupid not to be. But at least we'll be scared together."

"Real romantic, Wilson." Finally, Steve's lips twitched up in something like a smile. "You know how to win a guy's heart."

"You gonna kiss me like that and tell me I didn't already have it?" Sam arched his eyebrows. Sure, some people could do it, but Steve Rogers was not one of those people, not unless he'd seriously misjudged his personality.

"Nah." His smile turned a little sheepish, a little shy. "I woke up in the hospital and saw you sitting there next to my bed, and it just kinda hit me then, you know? Not a lot of people would do that for me."

"More than you know, I think." Since Natasha had been there whenever she could, and she'd kept relaying urgent texts from Tony Stark, of all people, asking for updates on Steve's health. Steve sold himself short in the friendship department - and most departments. "But if you want something romantic, I'll have to see what I can do the next time we're back home."

"I look forward to it." Even though Steve was trying to be flirtatious, there was a sincere honesty in his tone that Sam loved. Sam leaned in and kissed him again, cupping his cheek in one hand.

"Maybe if you take a shower," he suggested, "we can do something romantic right now."


	4. On a Date - Howard/Peggy

Peggy wasn't Howard's typical choice of a date for charity balls - he usually went with a starlet hanging off each arm - but she'd needed to get close to one of the other industrialists attending with his wife, and she'd informed Howard point-blank that he would be escorting her tonight. Howard had learned early on that saying no to Peggy was futile, and so here they were. She wore a wine-red evening gown that clung to her curves like a second skin, the kind that effectively distracted everyone (Howard included) from her face, and, as part of her cover, she flirted shamelessly with him whenever she happened to be nearby. 

All throughout dinner, she'd kept sneaking a hand under the table to rest on his thigh, giving him long, meaningful looks. Frankly, Howard was a little impressed; he'd never quite thought of Peggy as a seductress before. She was good at infiltrating all sorts of situations and playing whatever role was required of her - and certainly he'd made her a lipstick that required skin to skin contact, but he'd never pictured her as a honeypot.

She swept in with two flutes of champagne, handing one to Howard. "Thirsty, darling?" she purred in her slightly nasal American accent. Leaning in, she kissed the corner of his lips, and Howard thought about what it might be like to pull her in for a full-on kiss. 

"Thanks, sweetheart," he replied easily as he snaked an arm around her waist. Howard was careful to keep his hands from wandering; if he didn't, he was sure to hear about it later. He leaned in like he was whispering sweet nothings in her ear. "You find what you need yet?"

Peggy brought a hand up to her mouth like she was covering her laughter. "I planted the bug," she replied sotto voce. "But I'm not sure-"

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark?" A man tapped on his shoulder, and Howard pointedly ignored whoever it was - right up until he felt the chill steel of a gun pressed against his neck. They were in a corner of the ballroom, which, in retrospect, hadn't been one of Howard's better ideas.

"Bollocks," Peggy swore under her breath. She dipped a hand into her handbag and Howard ducked just as she pressed the device she'd made into the man's side. There was a faint sparking noise, and then he collapsed like so much dead weight. "Howard!" she hissed. "Help me with this."

Howard glanced around; thankfully, everyone nearby seemed to be preoccupied, and they were close enough to one of the exits that they could drag the goon out into a hallway. "Well," he drawled, "that went well."

"He smoked me," she huffed indignantly. "I hauled this man in on an espionage charge last year, but he got off. He had no connections whatsoever to this case, no reason to be here except as a gun for hire. Frankly, that's all he was before - a small fish we were using to hook a bigger fish. I imagine he took the initiative and decided his boss - his new boss, whoever that is - would like to catch an SSR agent. I don't even know if it's a coincidence, but I damn well know which file I'll be pulling when I get back to the office later." Peggy made a face. "A perfectly lovely night, ruined."

"Well, you're always welcome to stop by my place for a nightcap," Howard offered gallantly. "It's the least I can do for you, Peg."

She gave him a long, searching look, and for a moment, Howard thought he'd been overeager. But finally, she nodded her agreement. "I suppose it can wait till morning," she said, though Howard thought he heard a note of reluctance in her voice. In his opinion, Peggy overworked herself - she would have argued that it was necessary to prove that she was just as good as the men in the office. It was a shame that none of them knew the value of the woman they looked down upon.

Half an hour later, they were in Howard's study. Peggy had traded her dress for one of his dressing gowns, sash firmly secured in the middle, even though Howard had offered her free choice of anything in his special wardrobe. She'd taken one glance at the clothes there and decided that his clothing would do a better job of covering her up - though it did nothing to hide the elegant lines of her legs, one crossed over the other at the knee. They sat together on the sofa, shoulder by shoulder, a decanter of whiskey on the table in front of them; they'd grown used to drinking sessions like these during the war, with whatever alcohol they could find, wherever the SSR's work took them. Even after the war, after Steve's death, they continued the tradition.

"There's something going on under the surface," Peggy grumbled, staring at the liquor in her glass like it had somehow offended her. "It's filthy, and I can't possibly muddle my way through it all. I don't know who I can trust, Howard, apart from you."

"And you know things are bad when that happens," Howard retorted dryly as he nudged her shoulder with his own.

"Hmph." She turned her head to look at him. "You might be a snake, but you're a snake who's usually on my side, which is more than I can say for most people."

He snorted into his glass. "Do you know how pathetic that sounds?" Peggy's life was a little sad; she didn't have many friends that Howard knew of, not close friends. She held herself aloof, worried that she might lose anyone she allowed to get close. It made him worry for her sometimes - not that he was much better, in his own way.

"More pathetic for you, I should imagine." Peggy smiled slightly. "Unless you like being compared to serpents."

"If that was the worst analogy people made, I'd be a happy man." God knew he'd been called worse, and there were times when he even deserved it. He'd definitely deserved it every time Peggy had been mad at him, though, and her opinion mattered to him more than most.

"You must be terribly lonely," she murmured. "Rattling around all these penthouses and estates by yourself."

"I keep myself entertained." Howard shrugged it off. He certainly didn't need her concern, and it wasn't like he was alone most of the time. His residences all had staff, and, as Peggy knew, he entertained guests - typically of the feminine persuasion - regularly. "And there's always work."

Peggy swirled her drink before reaching to top her glass off. "Funny, I wasn't aware you actually worked," she teased him. "I thought you spent most of your time drinking and doing god knows what with women."

"Well, in between that, I occasionally like to tinker here and there." He grinned at her, showing his teeth under his mustache. "Usually in the wee hours of the morning when inspiration strikes." 

He did a lot more than Peggy gave him credit for - but, then again, so many of his inventions seemed effortless. (Or, rather, the initial phase was effortless; the trial and error refinement was somewhat more difficult.) In truth, working on something new was the closest he came to being happy, when he could lose himself in science and math and produce something new and exciting, when everything clicked together in that one moment and simply worked. He'd never found that satisfaction anywhere else; even a good orgasm still fell short of the mark.

"I've heard there's this thing called sleep that can work wonders. You ought to try it sometime."

"Only if you come with me." Howard waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.

"Is that a double entendre or simply an entendre?"

"Like me, it can swing either way." Another eyebrow waggle, because that one certainly was. Peggy was arguably the only person Howard felt comfortable admitting it to; Jarvis absolutely knew, but it wasn't something they spoke about apart from arranging his clandestine encounters.

"Bloody incorrigible." She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "Every time I sleep over at one of your flats, I wake up with your portrait staring me in the face. It's ridiculous, Howard. How many pictures of yourself can you have?"

Howard laughed. "Depends on how many artists I can seduce." He certainly enjoyed the process of posing for the portraits - and for some nude sketches. And he paid the artists well for their work, so everyone was satisfied. "Come on, Peg. It'll just be a good night's sleep, scout's honor."

"You have no honor," she sniffed. "You're just trying to get me in your bed."

"Wouldn't be the first time." They'd been known to share a bed - entirely platonically - more than once, usually when they'd been working together and one or both were simply so tired that they fell asleep in the middle of something. Howard had carried her to bed more than once. To be honest, he just liked having her in the bed with him; it felt right in a way that spending the night next to his lovers rarely did. He always woke up wishing it could last longer, and it never did.

"All right," she relented. "But you have to get up in time for breakfast in the morning, and it's not allowed to be liquid."

"You drive a hard bargain, Peg." But it was worth it in the end.


	5. Scar Worship - Stephen/Tony

Tony wasn't known for being self-conscious about much, but he was surprisingly shy about the scar on his chest where the arc reactor had once been. It was strange for someone who had countless nude photos and videos in the depths of the internet - someone who didn't even care that they existed - to be concerned about anyone seeing him shirtless now. Maybe, he thought, it was part of getting older, right up there with the grey hair and the slight paunch around his waist.

Whatever the case, it had made him hesitant to disrobe around Stephen; once they'd overcome that hurdle, then Tony had kept the lights dimmed, and Stephen, thank god, had humored him.

But tonight - tonight, they'd come back from dinner straight into Tony's bedroom, courtesy of a portal, and the lights had been on the whole time, and neither of them could be bothered to separate long enough to turn them off (or, in Tony's case, to tell Friday to turn them off). He'd been too distracted during the act, but now they were curled in bed together, and Tony kept thinking about the jagged scar on his chest and squirming.

"Tony." Stephen cracked an eyelid open. "Calm down. You're projecting your anxieties." He paused, then added, "More so than usual."

Tony gave him a wry, self-deprecating sort of grin. He knew his mind wasn't exactly comfortable to be around a lot of the time. His brain always buzzed with something, and a lot of the time, that something was worry. It undercut the constant stream of math, the stray thoughts of physics and computer programming, wove its way through the suit upgrades and the innovations like the threads in a tapestry. It had only grown worse over the years, as things kept happening and Tony was powerless to stop any of them. Really, expecting his possibly-not-quite-boyfriend to be repulsed by the scars on his chest was the least of his problems.

But that didn't keep him from worrying about it.

Long fingers found the scarred circle of skin, and Tony flinched. His heart pounded as he pulled away from Stephen. Sure, it was easy to claim that physical forms were only shells for the spirit within, Yoda quote and all, but Tony was inherently a vain creature, and he knew perfectly well that no matter what Stephen claimed about being attracted to the person he was on the inside, there was a certain level of physical attraction involved.

Stephen sighed, but he didn't try to pull Tony close again. Tony felt vaguely disappointed by this - which was stupid, he told himself, because didn't he want space? (No, he didn't, he wanted to cuddle with a stubborn sorcerer who wasn't always in the mood for the physical proximity Tony craved.)

"At least you can hide your scars," Stephen pointed out after a moment of silence. He held up one hand, the fingers crooked slightly. Even the effort of holding it out made it shake like a wind-tossed leaf. Scars criss-crossed his fingers, winding around the digits, spreading onto the palms and backs of his hands. Some, the more jagged ones, were from the crash that had initially caused his injuries; others were from the surgeries he'd had to put his hands back into some kind of working order. "Do you think I'm no less vain than you, Tony? My hands were my pride and joy, my tools. I was an artist. I thought I could play god - that I could defy god with my skills. In an instant, I was reduced to less than nothing. I was a patient in my own hospital, in the emergency room where I'd once reigned." He let his hand fall back onto the coverlet, where his fingers still trembled.

"I like your hands," Tony confessed quietly. When he reached out for Stephen's hand, the other man didn't draw back, although Tony knew he wanted to. He laced his fingers with Stephen's, felt the trembling subside slightly. "I always have, scars and all."

"And yet, you find it hard to believe that others might accept your own disfigurement." Stephen raised one eyebrow. "Your scars are a sign of emotional strength, of succeeding where lesser men might have failed. They remind you of what it's like to be brought low, lest you grow too arrogant again, but they also mark your triumphs, your transformation into a better man."

"I wouldn't say better-" Tony started, but Stephen cut him off with a curt shake of his head.

"I know what you think of yourself, Tony. You are your own harshest critic - but, then again, most men are, whether or not they're haunted by the ghosts of their fathers." Before Tony could open his mouth again, Stephen rolled his eyes. "Not literal ghosts, Tony. I assure you, Howard Stark passed on to whatever awaited him long ago, and this isn't a conversation about those issues."

Not that they hadn't done that before, over copious amounts of Tony's expensive whiskey. That was another area where Tony had discovered their pasts were similar, although Stephen's father hadn't been quite as...well. Nobody was the same as Howard Stark.

"The point is," he continued, "your scars make you who you are, and you shouldn't be ashamed of them." Now Stephen reached up to touch them again, and this time, Tony held still. His muscles tensed, and it was all he could do to keep from flinching, but he did it. "I had a hard time accepting this truth, but I'm confident you can do it." There was a gentle humor in his grey eyes. "Especially with my help."


	6. Making Fun of One Another - Tony/Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is. Uh. Not really that fluffy. I don't know what you expected with these two?

Science conferences, no matter where they were held, were boring as hell. Tony stood by this opinion; he only ever attended when he was a keynote speaker and Pepper or Stane talked him into actually showing up and giving a speech. By and large, he avoided others' presentations - unless they actually looked interesting, but that rarely happened - and spent his time picking up women in the hotel bar.

The problem with this was that a bunch of science nerds in the bar tended to make the atmosphere of even the most expensive hotels, well, boring. Tony liked nerding out as much as the next engineer, but there was only so much he could take; he didn't get along with a lot of scientists, especially the ones who insisted on being incredibly wrong about things. And when they got drunk, they were super boring and extra intolerable, and Tony was just about to ditch the bar in favor of a nightclub (any nightclub, god) when his gaze settled on a woman by herself at the bar. Her dark head was bent over something, but otherwise, her posture was ramrod-straight. She wore a charcoal suit, better tailored than just about anything anyone else in the room was wearing, and expensive-looking heels balanced on the horizontal bar of the stool.

"Hello, there," Tony said under his breath. He glanced at his reflection in one of the mirrors - a last-minute check to make sure he was still presentable - and sidled up to her, sitting on the edge of the stool next to hers.

She didn't bother glancing up, and Tony saw her thumbs were flying over the keyboard of a Blackberry. "I'm not interested," she told him frankly, "but if you want to buy me a drink before you leave, be my guest. Vodka and cranberry juice, more vodka, less cranberry."

Ooh. He liked it when women played hard to get. Tony waved the bartender over. "A vodka cranberry - emphasis on the vodka - for the lady, martini for me."

Tony saw her gaze flicker for a moment when the bartender set the glass down in front of her, and although she stayed fixated on her PDA, she frowned. "Stark." His name was snorted in a particularly acerbic tone. "You're wasting your time."

It wasn't like he was exactly unknown, so Tony wasn't surprised when she addressed him by name. Nor was he surprised by her vehemence; there were plenty of people he'd never personally met who didn't like him.

She tapped a few more words on her Blackberry, then slipped it into a pocket before she swiveled to face him. No, he definitely didn't remember those high cheekbones or the hard grey-green eyes. It was possible she was a jilted lover - he sure as hell didn't remember all of those - but increasingly unlikely. There was something familiar about the shape of her face, framed by the sleek lines of a bob, but he couldn't remember what it was.

"God, you have no idea who I am, do you?" She barked a laugh of sardonic amusement and took a healthy gulp of her drink. "I guess it's been...what, a decade?" One shoulder dipped in a shrug. "I was a teenager, and an unfortunate-looking one, at that." Her nose crinkled in distaste, like she didn't even want to remember it. "So don't say that you always remember a pretty face, because we both know that's bullshit."

Whoever she was, she seemed a lot more intimately familiar with Tony than he was with-

"Shit," he swore as realization hit him. "You really did grow up, didn't you?" It had been a wedding, he vaguely remembered - something he'd attended out of some stupid obligation or another. A bevy of girls in their late teens had been hitting on him, but she'd been a wallflower, still gawky and coltish and a couple years younger than the rest. Her dark brown hair had curtained her face then, and he'd had the distinct impression that the other girls made fun of her. He suspected that since then, she'd learned to give as good as she got.

"Unlike you." Her lips twisted into a wry smile. "I suppose you're trying to find an excuse to sneak out and party. Do you have a chaperone, Tony?" The question was patronizing, dripping with sarcasm, and it made him bristle.

"I'm a big boy, Hope," he retorted - and while that might have ordinarily been an innuendo, she'd already made her disinterest very clear. "I'm allowed to do what I want."

"Yes, we've all seen what a mistake that is." She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't leave you without adult supervision - and that so-called bodyguard of yours doesn't exactly count."

Tony glanced over his shoulder at Happy, who was doing his best to lurk discreetly in the background. Since it was Happy, his best wasn't even remotely discreet, but, then again, he was an ex-boxer in a room full of scientists. It was a hopeless cause.

"What about you, Miss Pym?" He soldiered on bravely. "Trying to convince people that Pym Particles really exist?"

Hope flinched at the use of her name, and as Tony kept talking, her expression grew stormier. "I've been Hope Van Dyne since I turned eighteen, Stark," she informed him icily.

"Still working for Daddy, though, aren't you?" He couldn't help the urge to goad her on, especially now that she was clearly getting mad. "Gotta love nepotism."

Her fingers clenched the glass, and Tony was mentally counting down the seconds until she threw it in his face - or he'd started, anyway, because the ice cubes hit his skin at _four_ (and he'd started at five).

"Fuck you," she spat, looking for all the world like a cat with an arched back. "As if you have any damn room to talk about nepotism. You haven't earned anything in your entire life. Do you know what it's like to have an entire physics department hate you because of your father? What it's like to have him call someone else the son he never had just because you didn't go on and get a doctorate?" Despite Hope's fury, she hissed the words, up close and in his face as her drink dripped down his face and neck. "I'm here to work, Tony, not as a guest of honor. I don't get to fuck off and party, I have to actually go to conferences and, while juggling everything here, also try to keep Hank from ruining a perfectly good company because he doesn't know the first damn thing about business."

Tony probably shouldn't have found this as intensely arousing as he did, and he vaguely wondered what that said about him.

"I'll buy you another drink," he blurted out impetuously.

"Oh, fuck off, I can buy my own drinks." She didn't seem inclined to apologize for what she'd done.

"Dinner tomorrow?" he hazarded.

"I'd rather set myself on fire."

Tony paused. "Do you remember the time you bit me because I wouldn't let you have another ginger snap?"

She arched one perfectly-manicured eyebrow at him. "Is that really how you pick women up?"

"Well, I didn't know most women when they were toddlers," he admitted. "And for what it's worth, Jarvis's ginger snaps were worth biting people for."

Hope hesitated, and he thought he saw her relax slightly. "One drink," she relented.

"Can we get room service? I'd rather not be all sticky. Makes me feel like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum."

"I remember you at the funeral," she blurted out three drinks later. Hope was sprawled loose-limbed on a chaise, her shoes discarded somewhere. "Mostly your mother, but you too."

Tony knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd gone with his mother to the services that had been held for Janet, and he remembered Hope, quiet and withdrawn, off to one side. Hank and his grief had been the focus of it all; nobody seemed to pay attention to the lonely little girl who was trying too hard not to cry. But Janet and Maria had been friends, his mother had known Hope, and she'd taken her off to a private room in the chapel. Tony had stood awkwardly to one side while Hope sobbed into his mother's black dress.

"You sent a card," Tony offered. "I couldn't figure out who it was from at first because it was just signed Hope, and I thought it was someone telling me to be optimistic and I was too fucking drunk to process anything. But you mentioned the funeral, and I remembered later on. Too late, I guess."

"I was eleven." She shrugged. "I didn't really know what the hell to write, or what to do at all. I just...wanted to show that it meant something to me. That I knew what it was like." Tears glittered at the corners of Hope's eyes, and she rubbed them with the back of her hand.

"At least I was grown up." Tony leaned over and poured more vodka into her glass. "I can't imagine what it must've been like."

"Shit," Hope told him frankly. "It was like losing both of my parents, because Hank didn't come back. He hid in his room, and then he sent me to boarding school, and I didn't know what to do or how to cope. My mom was the glue that held our family together. Without her, everything fell apart. I had to raise myself, more or less."

Howard had been distant, but at the same time, Tony had had more than enough surrogate parental figures treat him as part of their own families. Hope, he realized, hadn't, and she'd been so much younger when her mom died.

"I'm-"

"If you apologize," she retorted sharply, that bristling indignation back in her voice, "I'm going to throw a shoe at you." It seemed that she'd grown up prickly, quick to lash out at anyone who made her angry - and, unsurprisingly, fiercely independent.

"And if I just keep pouring?"

She laughed bitterly. "That's probably the best course of action."

By morning, she'd slapped him three times, ridden him on the sofa until he was swearing in Italian, left a trail of bite marks sprinkled over the ridge of his collarbone, and, sometime around two, fallen asleep with an arm slung over his hip. When he woke up, Hope was gone, and only a business card left on his bedside table showed that she'd been there at all. She'd scrawled her phone number on the back, and Tony wondered how much she'd yell at him when he called, wondered why he knew he would call her anyway.

Attraction was a damn weird thing sometimes.


	7. Kissing - Earth-65 Sam/Peggy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features Samantha Wilson (aka Captain America) from Earth-65, Spider-Gwen's world, and Peggy Carter, who is the director of SHIELD in the current timeline. Basically, it's an MCU-influenced backstory with touches of 616 thrown in. (It's not mentioned here, but this Peggy has an eyepatch - she's very much the Nick Fury of Earth-65.) If you want to know more, please allow me to plug my own [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13480488) about Sam. (Or just read Spider-Gwen.)

Sam's so-called bedroom - or at least the room she had till she was sent back out to the front - in the SSR's London headquarters was little more than a closet, but it wasn't a tent, and that was the most important thing to her right now. She wanted somewhere dry to sleep, somewhere she could get hot meals - and, perhaps most importantly, a place where she could be with Peggy without having to worry about anyone being just outside flimsy canvas walls.

Not that there was room to get up to much of anything on the cot - and Sam was pretty sure she'd break it if they tried. They hadn't really tried anything, period, and sometimes Sam was a little nervous about this fragile thing between them, if she'd just imagined it, if Peggy was having second thoughts, if someone else had found out-

The door opened a crack, and Peggy slipped in, shutting it firmly behind her. "Debriefings would take half the time if they just listened to what we said in the bloody first place, you know." She toed off her shoes and sat down on the cot next to Sam. "I swear, I have to get Howard to repeat everything I say to get them to believe it. Howard Stark! Why he has more credibility than I do-"

Sam cut her off by firmly planting her lips on Peggy's. They were warm and soft and everything Sam wanted in the world, and for just a moment, she could pretend that there wasn't a war on, that they weren't in a bunker underneath a city half a world away from where she'd grown up. Peggy Carter felt like home, and that was what mattered to Sam.

As she kissed her, Peggy relaxed - not fully, but she was more pliant in Sam's arms. By the time they broke apart for a quick breath, she wore a slight smile on her face, that secret vulnerable smile that only Sam ever saw. Even then, it was rare; Peggy wasn't one to let her weaknesses show.

"You're already repeating everything I said," Sam pointed out wryly, returning to the previous topic. "It's a goddamn circus." Which was probably why they were notorious for ignoring everything the high command said and haring off on their own with the rest of the Howling Commandos. It didn't help matters when it came to communication, but it sure as hell worked to defeat Hydra, and that was, in Sam's opinion, more important.

Peggy groaned and rested her forehead against Sam's. "Don't remind me. Just once, I'd like to feel like I'm accomplishing something when we're back here, instead of bashing my head against bureaucratic walls."

"More like bashing your head against stupid white men." Sam stole another kiss, twining her fingers with Peggy's and resting them on her thigh. The olive drab cloth of Peggy's skirt felt coarse, and she wanted to stretch out her fingertips to feel the smoothness of her stockings, to touch the soft skin of her thigh underneath the skirt.

"One and the same." Peggy gave her a crooked smile. "This reminds me of when I found you in that miserable closet in basic training, you know." When Sam had first been recruited for Project Rebirth, they'd assigned her to a supply closet at the end of a medical ward; there hadn't been any housing for women, and putting her somewhere where nurses were on duty all the time had been considered the next best solution. The cot they'd given her there had barely fit in the closet, and she'd had her meals brought with the patients', instead of taking them with the rest of the soldiers. Peggy had changed all that, arguing with her superior officer until Sam had been assigned a room in officers' quarters, until all the recruits from Project Rebirth ate together. They'd stayed up as late as they dared talking to each other like two gossiping schoolgirls, and over the course of that time, they'd become friends.

"Not much of a difference, is there?" Sam knew she only had this room because she was a woman - though the color of her skin had nothing to do with it this time; the bunks they had where the rest of the Commandos stayed were men-only. They didn't house many people here, just kept rooms for their operatives to use on a need-only basis. There were times when they'd already been filled and the Commandos had stayed at boardinghouses or hotels the military had commandeered; Sam liked this better. The staff here knew who she was by sight, even in her normal uniform, and gave her something approaching respect. That didn't often happen in other places. (It didn't always happen here, but she was usually too exhausted to kick up a fuss. All she wanted to do here was sleep and eat, and maybe try for a shower.)

"There's nothing to fall on your head if you move too much," Peggy pointed out pragmatically. "Boxes of bandages or scalpels or Lord knows what else."

"And no nurses to watch me." Sam pulled a face. "Like they have to protect the virtue of their charges." It didn't surprise Sam - she'd grown up in Alabama, after all, and she didn't expect anything else of white people - but god, it ate at her. Sometimes she wondered whose freedom she was fighting to preserve. It wasn't a very Captain America sentiment, but Sam had always been uncertain about the mantle thrust upon her. America, to her, was a country that needed to accept all its citizens as equals, needed to give them all truly equal rights. The idea was a noble sentiment, but the reality - well, the reality of her country was something that was hard to accept a lot of the time. She didn't feel like the image of patriotism. She was here because she wanted to help people, because some battles needed to be fought, but she knew that there were different battles to wage once the war was over.

For now, though, she was pressed up against Peggy, and she took advantage of this fact to kiss her again, slow and sweet.

"I do feel as if my virtue's being threatened, now that you mention it," Peggy murmured. "Although I should point out that it's very much mutual." She rested one hand on Sam's breast, squeezed it lightly through her clothes. "I would absolutely rob you of it if I had the opportunity."

"That ship's already sailed, sweetheart," Sam drawled. A shiver ran through her at Peggy's touch, and she ran one hand up into her pinned curls, cupped the base of her head gently.

Peggy laughed softly. "We both know that virtue and virginity aren't exactly synonymous. Not that either of us are terribly virtuous."

"If we were, we wouldn't be here." And right now, there was nowhere else Sam would rather be.


	8. Sleeping In - Steve/Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I need to learn how to end things instead of just writing banter all the time
> 
> but on the other hand
> 
> _banter_

It wasn't that Tony slept late, per se - not in the slothful way. It was more that his sleep schedule was erratic enough that he often found himself crawling into bed in the very small hours of the morning, usually after he'd been up longer than he should have, so of course he would wake up in the late morning or early afternoon. These things just happened. Steve, on the other hand, was the kind of guy who went to bed at the same time, like clockwork, and woke up obscenely early to go jogging and...do whatever the hell it was morning people did, Tony had yet to figure that out. And while he could influence Steve's bedtime - or at least how late he fell asleep - he couldn't keep him from getting up at the crack of dawn. Part of it was because Steve just didn't need as much sleep as a normal person, thanks to the serum, and part of it was because Steve was, annoyingly, a morning person. The kind of morning person who was convinced that everyone else should be the same way, even when Tony hadn't fallen asleep till 4 AM and sure as hell wasn't going to jog two hours later.

Over time, they'd found a happy medium, or at least something that didn't require Tony to get up and run early in the morning. A few times, he'd even convinced Steve to enjoy an entirely different kind of cardio instead. It wasn't like he absolutely had to go run around the city, reasoned Tony. Fucking him into the mattress was a perfectly good substitute, at least by his way of thinking.

The tinted windows in his penthouse kept most of the sunlight out, but Steve's internal clock still told him what time it was. Tony felt him stir as he tried to get out of bed as smoothly as possible - always a difficult task, considering that Tony tended to do his best imitation of an octopus when Steve was in bed with him. But Steve always felt guilty if he thought he was waking Tony up, so Tony obediently remained limp and let Steve pry his arms and legs away. By the time he was dressed, Tony had drifted off to sleep again.

He only awoke for a moment when Steve slipped back into bed with him, smelling of soap and clean laundry, his hair and skin still slightly damp when Tony nosed in close again. It wasn't that Steve was going to fall asleep again - once he was awake, he was awake - but he was happy to cuddle Tony until he woke up. Tony shifted sleepily until he ended up with his head pillowed on Steve's chest, vaguely aware that Steve was reading a paperback with one hand and running his fingers through his hair with the other. It was sickeningly domestic, and Tony loved it.

By the time he stirred again, he was sprawled out on his back, still splayed half-over Steve, and Steve had his phone out. "I don't think Wilson approves of you playing Angry Birds," Tony observed in a sleep-roughened voice. He tipped his head back, looking at Steve upside-down for a moment.

"Then he shouldn't keep trying to beat my scores," Steve replied mildly. He smoothed Tony's hair back from his forehead, and Tony had to try to keep from leaning into that touch like a cat being petted. "Are you up now?"

"I'm awake." Tony rolled back onto his stomach, keeping his chin resolutely on Steve's shoulder. "Anything else'll have to wait till after coffee. God, I need to invent a coffee delivery robot. Or a coffee IV drip. Something that doesn't involve going to the kitchen for coffee."

"If you'd let me-" Steve began.

Tony draped a possessive arm over his torso. "Nope. Absolutely not. Your job is to stay here and be eye candy." And a pillow, and whatever else he felt like. "Order brunch-"

"Lunch," Steve interjected.

"Fuck, no, I want French toast and bacon." And if you were an eccentric billionaire, you could have breakfast food whenever you wanted. In fact, if you were anyone in the twenty-first century, you could have breakfast food whenever you wanted, but Steve clearly had problems with the concept. (This did nothing to explain why Tony had caught him eating a box of cornflakes for dinner more than once, except that Steve also couldn't cook worth a damn.)

"French toast, bacon, coffee," Steve repeated as he tapped in an order. At least Tony had taught him how to order things on an app. "Fruit, and a cheeseburger for me."

"I have to have fruit and you're ordering a cheeseburger?" Tony snorted. "You're a goddamn hypocrite, Rogers." 

"Shut up, or I'm ordering you oatmeal."

"Fine, fine." Tony flopped dramatically on one side. "Oatmeal ought to be a crime against food."

"There's nothing wrong with oatmeal." Steve kissed his forehead. "I like oatmeal."

"You also like a breakfast cereal that was invented to keep people from jerking off," Tony pointed out reasonably. "You refuse to order anything hotter than mild at a restaurant. Just because you're almost a hundred years old doesn't mean you have to eat like a grandpa."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Watch who you're calling grandpa there, Stark, or my finger will slip and you'll end up with decaf."

"Ugh." Tony made an appalled face. "You wouldn't do that to me."

"Hey, I don't have to stay here and watch you walk into things because you haven't had any caffeine. I have a thriving social life."

"Like..." Tony let the word hang.

"I could!" Steve insisted. "And you're about to get oatmeal."

"If you order oatmeal, I'm smothering you in your sleep, and that's final." At least arguing did more to wake Tony up than lazing in bed and simply cuddling - not that he didn't enjoy cuddling, because he obviously did. "I don't care if that's treason and I'll have my liver ripped out by bald eagles."

"Where do you even get this stuff from?" Steve shook his head incredulously.

"The endless depths of my imagination. Order the damn food, Steve."


	9. Hugging - Scott/Hope

"What is it with you and hugging, anyway?" 

Hope glanced up from her iPad for a moment. "What do you mean? We hug all the time." That might have been a slight exaggeration of the truth, but this wasn't a topic she wanted to delve into. Which meant, of course, that Scott was going to pursue it, the same way he always did. She wasn't sure if he was willfully obtuse or just tactless, although it was possible the answer was both.

"Yeah, but you hesitate first. You don't initiate." Scott reached over and stole her tablet. He was of the opinion that she needed to work less when she was at home, and he might have been right, but that didn't mean she could just stop. The company needed her while she tried to fix everything Darren had fucked up.

"Is there a problem with that?" God, why did he have to be so persistent?

Scott paused for a moment while he tried to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. "It isn't something with me, is it?"

She sighed and picked up the glass of wine she had left over from dinner, taking a healthy drink. "I don't hug a lot, that's all. Some people are huggers and some aren't, okay? It's totally normal."

And, yep, there was Scott's imitation of a kicked puppy, right on cue. Hope had to hand it to him, he pulled that off amazingly well. Something about his soulful brown eyes made it impossible to resist him.

"Does Hank seem like the kind of person who does a lot of hugging?" Everything always came back to her father, in the end. Hope hated that about herself, that she'd allowed him to mold her so much, that she couldn't just be a normal person like Scott. Deep down, she was a little afraid that she might be too distant for a romantic relationship, that anyone she allowed to get close might leave her because of it.

"Uh, no, not really."

Hope set the wineglass back down on the table and reached out for the iPad, trying to steal it back from Scott. "There's your answer. Can I finish my email now?" 

"No." He leaned back, keeping the tablet out of reach.

Hope stared off into the distance. "He didn't hug me after my mom di- after we lost my mom. And then...I mean, you can imagine how the next decade or so went, till I was old enough to move out." It wasn't hard to intuit, and she didn't like spelling it out like this, exposing her own vulnerabilities. "I didn't really date much or have a lot of close friends. Hugging wasn't a thing I did, okay? It still isn't something I do a lot." Unlike Scott, who thought that physical contact was a vital part of everything. He wasn't wrong; she envied how easily touch came to him, how he scooped up Cassie in an embrace every chance he got. She remembered her own mom hugging her like that and the safe, warm feeling she'd had when it happened.

"Hug me," Scott demanded.

She stared at him.

"You don't get this back till I get a hug." Scott was clearly serious, and Hope rolled her eyes. Just hugging him once wasn't going to solve all her problems, and it was stupid to believe it would. 

"Does it count as initiating a hug if I'm coerced into it?" she countered, folding her arms over her chest.

"Do you want to finish your email or not?" Scott set the iPad to one side, farther away from Hope. 

Sighing, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. Hugging Scott was nice, she was willing to admit that much - the problem, like she'd said, wasn't with him, but with her. And even then, something about it still reminded her of the way she'd felt all those years ago when her mom hugged her, safe and warm and loved. That alone was worth putting up with Scott Lang and everything he did, hugs included.


	10. Watching Each Other Sleep - Sam/Steve

Sam knew Steve would be all right - he had to be all right. He was a super-soldier, and he did goddamn stupid things all the time. Even their short acquaintance had made that much abundantly clear. But he had a feeling deep in his bones that he needed to stay with him for as long as it took him to wake up.

He and Natasha played cards for the first few hours, but it didn't take Sam long to figure out that she cheated. (Actually, he figured that much from the very beginning, just from what he'd learned about her so far, but still stuck with it for lack of anything better to do.) They swapped war stories over shitty hospital food, though Nat's were heavily edited - again, no real surprise there.

"You wanna trade shifts?" Natasha asked as night fell, but Sam shook his head. She was too restless to stay put for long; Sam could do this all night if he had to. She shrugged and made him promise to call her if anything changed.

He fell asleep in the shitty hospital chair, and when he woke up, Tony Stark was staring down at him. "Can a guy get some privacy, birdbrain?" Stark raised an eyebrow over tinted sunglasses. "I flew down here at the asscrack of dawn so the FAA wouldn't bitch at me for screwing up their flight paths - I'd say you know how it is, but I'm not sure your cute little jetpack can handle altitudes like that."

Sam didn't bat so much as an eyelash. "Must be a design flaw. You bring any bagels with you?"

Tony tried to stare him down, but caved in and handed Sam a bag. "Five minutes. Shoo, pigeon."

"I'm watchin' you, Stark." Sam grumbled as he got up from the chair - he was too fucking old to spend hours in shitty chairs - but took the bag and cleared out to the waiting room.

"Can't believe Tony pried you out of there." Natasha had her hands wrapped around a cup of shitty hospital coffee. "Was it the bagels?" 

Sam rummaged in the bag and handed her an everything bagel and a plastic knife, but she pulled a knife from her boot and waved him off.

"Okay, that shit better be sanitized before you dip it in the cream cheese." Sam made a face and handed her one of the tubs. "I don't even know who that's been in."

"Mm." Natasha, thankfully, used the plastic knife to spread cream cheese on her bagel. "How do you think he got out of the river?"

"Hell if I know." Steve seemed to survive just about everything he shouldn't; Sam hadn't thought about how he'd washed up on the bank of the Potomac. For all he knew, the man had been conscious when he'd hit the water, and for a moment, he wondered if Steve had been reminded of crashing the Valkyrie. The thought of Steve plummeting from the helicarrier tied his stomach into knots, and he closed his eyes. "You call Stark?"

"I thought he might like to hear that Steve was still breathing and not shot full of holes by rogue SHIELD agents. Who knows what the news is reporting?" Nat licked cream cheese off her thumb, and some part of Sam's brain that wasn't exhausted took note of that. From the look she gave him, she knew that too damn well.

"You ought to get some sleep in a real bed," she added. "Before you end up in a hospital bed."

"You mother hen everyone, or just me and Steve?" Sam asked, his mouth stuffed full of bagel.

"Just the idiots who need it."

Sam made a face at her and checked his watch. Picking up the bag of bagels, he headed back to his vigil.

After lunch, he pulled out his phone and put some music on to liven up the hospital room; he was tired of nothing but the steady beeps and whirs of machinery, and he didn't feel like watching TV. Besides, he felt like he could use some Marvin Gaye to pick him up. Sam washed down one of the pain pill they'd given him with a glass of water - he wasn't nearly as injured as Steve, but he'd managed to get his fair share of bumps and bruises and possibly cracked ribs from their fight - and drifted off again.

The next time he woke up, Steve was staring blearily at him, and Sam smiled softly. He'd always had faith in Steve, and he always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there a story behind Sam and Tony's interaction? Yes. ;)


	11. Wildcard - Stephen/Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the two references to other canons and one Marvel shoutout in this chapter!
> 
> (The butchered Mean Girls quote doesn't count.)

"Is Disney really the most magical place on Earth?"

Stephen didn't look up from the book he was reading. "World or Land?"

"Does it make a difference?" Tony's original question had just been to fuck with the sorcerer, but now he was curious.

"Well, I could tell you that Disney World was built over a hole in the fabric of reality and the employee tunnels under the surface extend into multiple dimensions and occupy much more space than they take up in our world." He shrugged, and the hem of the Cloak rippled as if it were mimicking the gesture. "Or that Disney Land is actually a cover for the faerie court of Southern California, and if you follow the right path through the park, you'll arrive in a pocket dimension hollowed out and inhabited by immortal creatures more fantastic than Tolkien ever imagined when he wrote about elves."

"But those are both lies." At least, Tony was pretty sure. He was getting better at telling when Stephen was just pulling mystic-sounding gibberish out of his ass to fuck with him, as opposed to the real mystic-sounding gibberish.

Stephen favored him with a small smile. "Precisely. Even ley lines fail to describe the ebb and flow of magic in the universe - we use them as a sort of shorthand because it's easier to talk about, but they aren't really lines in any meaning of the word. Which doesn't answer your question, and yet-"

"And yet?"

"Life is magic, and magic is life. Anywhere you find living creatures, you'll find magic of one sort or another. Where those beings congregate, magic..." He frowned. "It's difficult to describe in terms you can understand. But by those simple laws, nearly all cities have their own sort of magic. Not strictly the kind sorcerers such as myself use, but not without power. Therefore, theme parks - particularly the ones owned by Disney - are very nearly cities unto themselves, and have their own share of ambient magic. Not to mention the extraterrestrial and extraplanar tourists."

"Who, thankfully, haven't decided to make a mess of anything yet," Tony guessed. Or else the Happiest Place on Earth (or one of them) would have been a smoking crater in the ground long before now.

Stephen arched his eyebrows at Tony. "Who said they haven't? Not everything is a world-ending catastrophe, Stark. Sometimes the crocodiles just end up eating exotic meat. And then sometimes mistakes are made on that part and the magical crocodiles escape to different dimensions, or to New York's sewers. There's a lot of strange fallout from these events, and very little of it is easily foreseen."

God, nearly all of his conversations about magic ended up with Tony having a massive headache. Which never seemed to keep him from asking. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that. "So you wrestled magical reptiles in Florida. Got it."

"No, I just know someone who did." Stephen pressed his lips together, and Tony could tell he was debating whether or not he should say more. "I've never been to Disney."

"You what?" Tony grinned suddenly.

"Tony," Stephen said in a familiar warning tone, the one that Tony disregarded on a regular basis.

"Stephen." Tony mimicked him. "Get your cloak, loser. We're going to Disney."

The Cloak, as it turned out, loved everything about the theme park, and was unable to keep from wiggling its hem in excitement the whole time. Thankfully, Stephen had glamoured it into a scarf, so it didn't draw unnecessary attention - although, as Tony had pointed out, a guy in a cloak was definitely not the strangest thing anyone would see. 

"This new Star Wars area is great," Tony enthused. He'd plopped a pair of Mickey ears with a sorcerer's hat on Stephen's head the second they'd walked past the gates (Stephen had wanted to portal in, but Tony had insisted on being paying customers). "Although the old-school Star Tours was way better. More authentic. You missed out."

Stephen hadn't even seen the new Star Wars movies, but he wasn't about to mention that to Tony, who was like a kid in a candy shop as he pulled Stephen around. Stephen also failed to mention the actual aliens taking advantage of the propensity for cosplaying at the park. What Tony didn't know wouldn't hurt him, after all.

(He had mentioned how many spirits lurked around the parks, including those who'd had ashes smuggled in and dumped in the Haunted Mansion, but Tony hadn't appreciated that.)

"Hey, Strange, you wanna get a picture with Elsa?" Tony grinned at him. "I'm afraid the Avengers are only in Anaheim, otherwise you could pose with Iron Man."

Stephen rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Because I'm really missing out on that opportunity."

Tony elbowed him in the side. "Be good, or we'll have to skip the fireworks, and I won't buy you a Dole Whip."

Stephen had to conclude that it could have been worse - after all, Universal Studios had Hogwarts.


	12. Hanging Out With Friends - Steve/Sam + Bucky

"Steve, Netflix and chill doesn't usually involve three people." Sam glanced over Steve's shoulder at Bucky. It wasn't that he didn't want to have the other man over here, it was just that Sam had imagined their evening taking a different path. "You can't just say 'Netflix and chill' when you mean hanging out and watching something."

"What does it mean?" Sam couldn't tell if Steve was serious or if he was simply trolling him; either option was entirely likely.

Leaning closer so Bucky couldn't hear, Sam started to whisper-

"It means fucking," Bucky offered from across the kitchen. "What? I saw it on Twitter."

Sam gave him a suspicious look. "You use Twitter?"

"And Instagram." Bucky made a face at him. "Shuri taught me. I'm more technologically advanced than some people I could name."

"I can Google things!" Steve protested. "Just 'cause I'm a hundred years old doesn't mean I'm helpless, Buck."

Sam just sighed. Now that they were bickering, they'd probably be at it for hours. "I'm gonna go get the movie started. If either of you want to order dinner, go right ahead." He knew Steve could do that on his phone, and he was willing to bet Bucky, self-proclaimed technological genius extraordinaire, could do it too.

"I don't like being the third wheel," Bucky said as he plopped down at the opposite end of the couch from Sam. Steve was still in the kitchen, waiting for their food to be delivered. "So if you want me to leave, just say so."

"Don't be dramatic, Barnes." Sam glanced over at him, unimpressed. "You don't get enough socialization; you'll end up like a feral cat if you aren't around people more." He was pretty sure that Bucky didn't like that he was dating Steve, but on the bright side, Barnes hadn't given him a shovel talk yet. (Natasha and Tony had both tried - Nat had done a credible job, Tony hadn't.) "Just drink a beer and calm the fuck down for once."

"Thanks for not saying 'chill out'." 

Sam smirked. "Don't worry, I save all my good jokes for Steve. What do you wanna watch?"

Bucky stared at the screen. If his wide eyes were any indication, he was a little overwhelmed by the choices. "Look, I haven't watched a whole lotta movies since the war. Pretty much everything is new to me."

While Sam was tempted to put on The Manchurian Candidate just to be a shit to Bucky, that probably wasn't the best idea, all things considered. He wanted something a little lighter, and eventually he settled on Star Wars. Steve had actually seen it already as part of his self-education, but he didn't think Bucky had. 

"I don't understand why people don't like the prequels," Steve offered as he brought the pizzas into the room. "They seem perfectly fine to me. And the lightsaber fights are way cooler."

"Have you ever told Tony that?" Sam asked. He leaned in and gave Steve a quick peck on the cheek.

"Yeah, he muttered something about fighting me in an airport parking lot again." Steve snorted. "Apparently it's serious business."

Bucky elbowed Steve without taking his eyes off the screen. "Shut up, you two. I'm watchin' the movie. Shuri keeps talking about these, but I haven't seen them." Apparently the Wakandan princess had made quite an impression on Bucky; from what Sam had gathered, she seemed to be some sort of a younger sister figure to him, albeit a younger sister who had restored him to himself and made a new arm for him.

By the time they finished the first movie, all the pizza was gone, and Bucky was thoroughly engaged in the plot. It was kind of cute watching him - one of the few people in the world who was thoroughly unspoiled for Star Wars, as far as Sam knew.

"So these are the ones people don't like?" he asked.

"No, there are movies before these -" Sam made a face. "It's hard to explain. These were made first, and then twenty years later, the guy who came up with the idea made three more movies to explain the backstory, but a lot of fans didn't like them for a whole lot of different reasons. So these are considered the best of the bunch."

"Yeah, people get worked up about a lot of dumb shit." Bucky shrugged. "Must be nice, having nothing else to worry about."

"It's escapism, that's all. We can watch Lord of the Rings next time if you want another set of movies nerds lose their shit over." Not that Sam didn't enjoy Lord of the Rings, he just wasn't a self-described nerd. He left that kind of thing to Tony.

"I still haven't finished those movies." Steve returned with ice cream and handed Bucky an entire carton. "They're long - like, hard to watch in one sitting long. So what Sam means is that we can start watching them. You remember The Hobbit, don't you, Buck?"

"Uh." Bucky looked lost for a moment, and Sam wasn't sure if it was one of the memories that had been erased by Hydra, or one that had simply been lost to time. "Man, Steve, you were always the one who read storybooks." He glanced at Sam. "I liked nonfiction better, although I read some sci-fi."

"Lord of the Rings is set after The Hobbit," Steve explained, "but it's still in the same world. Doesn't matter right now, anyway. Just start the movie, Sam."

"Hey, why didn't Chewie get a medal, anyway?" Bucky asked. "He did just as much as Luke and Han."

"One of the great mysteries of Star Wars. No one appreciates the Wookiee like they ought to."


	13. In a Fairy Tale - Tony/Stephen

Curses were not the sort of things Stephen Strange typically dealt with. They existed, yes, just as other malevolent forms of magic did, but by and large, they didn't threaten the well-being of the planet as a whole, and so he left others to handle them. He had bigger metaphorical fish to fry, usually the kind with too many eyes and sharp teeth and the ability to rip holes in reality.

And yet, he felt the sharp prickle of darker magic - like a hedge of strangling thorns - in his senses one day while meditating, and couldn't ignore it. Someone less intelligent than the Sorcerer Supreme might have charged in swinging a sword; Stephen was armed only with his own formidable wits (and, of course, the Cloak of Levitation).

The portal he opened was, if he was any judge of location, to a country house a couple hours' drive from New York. (Okay, so it was less judging the location and more waiting for the GPS on his phone to pick it up, but pretending mystic knowledge was what he did.) It looked ordinary, if a bit run-down, from the outside - a sprawling early 20th century house surrounded by trees. In his magical senses, darkness was everywhere, and all of it led to a seething knot in the center of the house.

"Hello?" he called out as he entered. The door had been locked, but mere electronics couldn't thwart a sorcerer. In fact, he sensed more wiring and bits and pieces of technology throughout the house than one might expect, and every room was surprisingly neat, like a cleaning service visited regularly, which made it a definite change from most other eldritch locations. At least Wong wouldn't complain about the state of his clothes.

A low growl came from the shadows of the library, and golden eyes glinted in the darkness. Stephen stood his ground. Whatever it was, he wasn't especially frightened; he could sense intelligence about the creature. More importantly, the magic had been cast on it; it wasn't the source of the malevolent power.

"I'm not here to harm you," Stephen offered in a calm voice. "But if you attack first, then I can and will defend myself. Do you understand?"

It took a moment for him to realize that the sound coming from the shadows was laughter - self-deprecating laughter with more than a tinge of bitterness. A leonine head appeared first, then a body - all of it covered in sable fur, and, on both legs, topping Stephen's lean form by several inches. The muzzle housed fangs as long as his index finger, and the paws - although they were clearly more dexterous than animal paws - were definitely tipped with retractable claws.

"Why are you here, then?" it - no, he - rumbled. "And how did you get in?"

"I let myself in." Stephen looked up and saw the glint of human intelligence in catlike eyes. "I'm a sorcerer."

"Of fucking course you're a sorcerer." He huffed another laugh, and his whiskers twitched. "And I have a bunch of singing dishes who'd like to meet you."

Stephen gave him an unimpressed look. "You're tangled in a curse - and I'm sure you know that perfectly well - and you're questioning my legitimacy?" His gaze skated down the creature's body, and- "Are you wearing sweatpants?" It wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen, but it was pretty bizarre.

"Animals don't wear sweatpants." He shrugged. "If I walk on two legs and I wear clothes, then I remember that I'm human."

That made a surprising amount of sense to Stephen, who knew that transformation magic could permanently warp the mind of someone who was transformed. He was just surprised that someone who clearly wasn't used to magic had figured it out.

"If you're human, then you have a name." Stephen waited for him to offer it up.

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Tony Stark."

That definitely wasn't what Stephen had expected. "Tony Stark? Reclusive billionaire Tony Stark?" Although that explained the reclusive part - Tony had been the very opposite, in fact, until he'd disappeared suddenly one day and began running his business from home. It had been something of a seven days' wonder until the next strange thing came along, and now everyone simply accepted it as fact.

"I woke up one morning, and I was like this." Tony gestured to his body. "It's been years now, without any sign of reversing. I get everything delivered, hide in the basement when the cleaners come, communicate through email and texts. It works, mostly because people look the other way when you have enough money."

"Hm." Stephen couldn't figure out how to unravel the curse, and it vexed him, if only because he was certain of his ability to do just that. He'd never been able to leave a puzzle unsolved, especially not one that challenged him. "With your permission, I'd like to study you, Stark."

Tony leaned back against the bookshelves. "Hey, be my guest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued????


	14. Genderswap - Sam/Peggy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get anything written yesterday thanks to fucking up my meds, so two shorter pieces today! This one is an AU of Earth-65 that follows the MCU more closely and features, you guessed it, Winter Soldier Peggy. 
> 
> (How did she found SHIELD if she was the Winter Soldier? _It's a mystery_ , by which I mean I totally know the answer. :v More possibly coming later!)
> 
> (Also, yes, this isn't fluff, deal with it.)

All in all, Sam wasn't surprised to find out that SHIELD had its own agenda, that Fury was more than happy to use her for his own purposes. She'd been wary of them ever since she'd woken up in that little hospital room set they'd built; she'd gone along with it because, well, what else was she going to do? Wasn't like she had a whole lot of marketable skills for the twenty-first century, and folks still needed her help. That much hadn't changed.

But the path of being a superhero had led her here, to the discovery that Hydra had grown inside SHIELD like a cancer, and the only thing to do was burn it all to the ground, and damn the consequences. 'Here' was, more literally speaking, a fight in the streets of D.C. with a mysterious Soviet assassin - not to be confused with the mysterious ex-Soviet assassin on her side - and elite SHIELD-turned-Hydra fighters, and Sam was well and truly done with everything.

She'd fought her opponent once before, on the night Fury had been shot in her apartment, and she knew about her unnatural strength and ability. Sam was taller and heavier than she was, but also unarmed, apart from her shield; the other woman had a knife and fought like she knew how to use it. Everything about her seemed ordinary, from her brown hair, pulled back in a businesslike ponytail, to her build - but when Sam pried the mask away from her face, it dropped from her nerveless fingers. Of all the outcomes she'd imagined, this was the least likely.

"Peggy?" she whispered. It was impossible. Hell, Peggy had helped found SHIELD, had led it up into the last decade of the twentieth century. That much was a fact. And yet, the woman in front of her looked exactly like Peggy - looked like she hadn't aged a day since the war. Her gaze was flat, her hair was straight, but Sam still would have known her anywhere.

"Who the hell is Peggy?" The Soldier spoke with an American accent, not the crisp British Sam was used to, but the timbre was the same. Sam wanted to reach out and touch her face, but something told her that would end with a knife in the gut.

"I-" Sam blinked and, in that moment of hesitation, found herself being subdued and cuffed by the SHIELD fighters. Peggy seized the opportunity to vanish, gone as quickly as she'd appeared.

Someone was gonna have a lot of explaining to do.


	15. Geeking Out - Sam/T'Challa + Shuri

"Well, little bird, I have a surprise for you," T'Challa told Sam one morning as he was getting dressed. "Will you come with me?"

"Depends on what kind of surprise it is," Sam retorted dryly. "If it's one where I get my ass handed to me by Okoye, then no."

T'Challa chuckled, having been witness to many of Sam's sparring sessions with the Dora Milaje. "A good surprise," he clarified as he leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I think you will enjoy it."

"So that rules out Bucky, too."

"Come on." He tugged at Sam's elbow impatiently. "I'm afraid I wasn't able to make much time in my schedule, but I wanted you to have this sooner, rather than later."

Sam let T'Challa lead him through the palace complex, and eventually, they came to Shuri's laboratory, where she waited for them next to a table. She'd draped a sheet over the table's contents, and after she exchanged a complicated handshake with her brother, she gestured for him to pull the sheet back.

"T'Challa had this idea," she explained, "by which I mean he had the suggestion and left all the real thinking and hard work to me." Shuri gestured to the device on the table - it was clearly a harness of some sort, paired with goggles and two sleek bracers. Everything glinted with the telltale sheen of vibranium, and when she waved her kimoyo beads over the harness, two spidery-looking rods telescoped out into a framework that looked like skeletal wings. With a quick gesture of her fingers, sparkling light bloomed from the rods and spread down the frame, flowing out to form wings with stylized feathers in a pattern of red and charcoal grey.

Sam whistled at the sight, impressed. They were pretty - and, if he knew Shuri, they were functional, too.

"It's an application of the same hard-light holograms we use for our barriers and shield-capes," she explained. "The framework is both an emitter and serves the same function in terms of steering that your current wings do, and these can also be wrapped around you as a shield. You can control them with either the gauntlets or the HUD in the goggles - the wings have several preprogrammed shapes inspired by birds. If you expect to be gliding, for example, they'll elongate like an albatross's wings, or you can shift them into shorter and narrower wings for diving. The propulsion system in the jetpack is simply a more advanced version of the one you're used to, with cleaner technology, and I've taken the liberty of upgrading your drone as well." Shuri pressed a button, and a smaller, sleeker drone separated from the rest of the harness. "Of course, it required sacrificing a lot of your firepower, but this can be worn underneath clothing and deployed without all the complications of your current gear. The drone can detonate a small-scale EMP and knock out all the electronics in a hundred-yard radius, and the wings themselves can stop any hand-held ballistics and, I would hope, most things up to and including large-scale arms fire. Missiles, well-" She waved a hand. "Don't go throwing yourself at any missiles. I don't think my brother would approve."

"I would not," T'Challa agreed. "Do try and keep your tailfeathers from getting blown off."

"You're the only one allowed to blow my tailfeathers," Sam retorted in what was supposed to be a preposterous innuendo, but fell somewhat short of the mark.

"Ew." Shuri made a face. "That doesn't make sense, and ew. You don't need to talk about that in front of me."

Sam, wisely, decided to pick up one of the bracers instead, turning it over in his hands. Shuri leaned in to demonstrate the small touchscreen along the forearm.

"You can change the color," she offered. "In case you want to be interesting. The default matches what you have already, but you can adjust to any color or set of colors, or even choose an image." With a sweep of her fingers, she changed the colors to a brilliant red, white, and blue. "Or, if you're being stealthy - like a flying man is really all that stealthy - you can set it to transparent." Another touch, and the colors shimmered away. Sam reached out to touch the wings, and his fingers met a solid surface that rippled slightly at the touch.

"That," he breathed reverently, "is so fucking cool." 

"Way cooler than anything from Tony Stark," Shuri agreed smugly.


	16. Morning Ritual - Steve/Sam

"On your left!"

Sam just rolled his eyes as Steve ran past him. Some jokes, it seemed, never got old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I just couldn't resist the urge to troll.


	17. Spooning - Scott/Hope

As dawn broke above the San Francisco skyline, Hope stretched in bed. Her phone was on the nightstand, and she wondered if Scott would notice if she reached over him to pick it up. Probably not, she decided; Scott slept more soundly than she did. As she stretched to reach for it, her gaze fell on Scott's sleeping face, and she found herself smiling slightly. There was something sweet about the way he looked, with a growth of stubble on his face and sleep-mussed hair. She kissed his cheek, then propped one arm on his shoulder as she nestled behind him with her phone, tangling her legs with his.

She'd actually gone through all her emails and had started idly playing Sudoku by the time Scott woke up, twisting in her embrace to kiss her. "Morning, honey," he murmured against her lips.

"Mmm." Hope closed her eyes and relaxed into the kiss. "I see you finally decided to wake up."

"Look, if the early bird gets the worm, then I'm just gonna play it safe and wait till the early birds are gone," he teased her. "I know a thing or two about avoiding birds."

"Says the guy who got in a fight with Falcon on his first outing," Hope pointed out.

"Yeah, but I won!" Scott grinned boyishly. "You can't deny that."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "I'm sure it made an excellent impression on your buddy Cap." Hope would probably never get tired of needling him about that - and, to be fair, he probably deserved it, with all the trouble the fallout from Germany had brought them. (And, yes, she was still a little jealous that he'd gone off to join the Avengers without even asking her, even if they'd technically been rogue Avengers at the time.)

"It all worked out in the end, though." Which, for a broad definition of the sense 'working out', was true. Hope didn't like to think about what had happened with Thanos and the time she'd been wiped out of existence - didn't like to think about Scott trapped in the Quantum Realm and how close they'd come to losing each other forever.

She hugged him close, burying her face in his neck for a moment and letting her phone fall to the bed. "Just as long as you don't let it happen again," she whispered. 

Somehow, Scott knew the path her thoughts had taken, and he cupped Hope's cheeks in his hands and kissed her forehead. "Hey, I'm not leaving you, okay? I'm gonna stay right here."

"I know, I just-" She shook her head. How could she explain the irrational fear she had sometimes when it didn't even make sense to her? "It's nothing," she lied instead.

"No, it's not." Scott carded his fingers through her hair gently. "You don't have to hide your feelings with me, Hope. It's okay."

Hope's lips twisted into a wry smile. "It's not you, Scott, it's me." Repressing her emotions was practically second nature to her - not just from the way she'd been raised after her mom had been lost in the Quantum Realm, but from a lifetime as a woman in business, where men would automatically assume she was weak and emotional without even thinking about it, without even knowing her as a person. She was trying to be better about not holding back as much with Scott, but it was damn hard.

"Look, I love you for who you are, whether you open up or not. I just want you to be a happier person." Stroking her cheek with his thumb, Scott kissed her again.

She rested her forehead against his and took slow and steady breaths to calm her racing heart. "Scott, being with you makes me happy. I'm not always the best at showing that, but- god, I love waking up with you in the morning like this, just the two of us, even if you take forever to wake up. I love everything we do together, even when we're fighting. I kept thinking about you the two years we were on the run, even though I wanted to just get over you - even though Hank told me to forget about you. I wanted to call you, and then I told myself that I was acting like a stupid lovesick teenage girl, that I had better things to do than pine over you. And I kind of did, but I guess my point is that I never really stopped loving you, I just didn't realize it." She paused and realized she was blinking back tears. "Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," Scott reassured her. He opened his mouth again, like he was about to say something else, but then stopped and pulled her close instead. "I'm scared of losing you, too," he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Because I already did once."


	18. Teaching each other how to do something - Sam/Steve

"I don't know if I can do this, Steve." Sam hefted the shield in his hands. There was more than just a physical weight to it; he knew the burden Steve had carried on his shoulders since the war, and the shield represented all of that. He still didn't have any reservations about accepting his proposition, but Sam didn't know if he was capable of being who he needed to be.

Steve chuckled and slung an arm around Sam's shoulders. "I'd say it's all in the wrist, but it's really not. What you do is treat the shield like it's an extension of your arm, so that when you throw it, it goes where you want."

"Yeah, easy for you to say." Sam made a face at him. "Did you ever think twice about throwing it?"

"Well, no," he admitted sheepishly. "It just kinda came naturally to me." Which meant, Sam knew, that it was a serum thing - just like his enhanced memory, his strength and agility, his tactical mind. Sam was just a normal human, and that was what made him worry.

It was absolutely nothing like throwing a frisbee. His first try left the shield stuck in the ground about twelve feet away - not because it was too heavy, but because he couldn't judge the aim yet. One thing most people didn't realize about his jetpack was exactly how much muscle it required in Sam's arms and shoulders; even if he wasn't a super-soldier, he sure as hell didn't skip arm day when he worked out.

"Here." Steve stepped behind Sam and wrapped his arms around him, guiding him through the motion of throwing the shield. Sam had to admit that having Steve that close was distracting, with their arms pressed together, that broad chest right up against his back. He could feel Steve's body heat through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. "Do you see now?"

"No."

Steve just chuckled. "Maybe you oughta focus on the shield, Sam." He stroked the back of Sam's hand with his fingertips, then brought their joined arms in close again. "Concentrate on keeping it straight as you throw," he coached him, slowly extending their arms together. "Don't fight the momentum, let it work for you."

Stepping back a few feet, Steve let Sam throw the shield on his own again. This time, it cut a sharp parabolic arc before it bit into the turf.

"I know, I know, keep it straight," Sam huffed as he yanked the shield out. "Maybe Ross was right."

"Maybe Ross is an asshole," Steve retorted, a little more sharply than he meant to. "I know you can do it. Just you, Sam Wilson. No serum, just your own two hands."

Sam's smile was a little wry. Sure, Steve's belief was no small thing; the man's faith could move mountains. But there was that little bit of self-doubt about how the public would view him - he was a normal man, and he simply couldn't do what Steve could. He didn't have the powers most of the other Avengers did. While he didn't believe they were necessary to be Captain America, that the most important thing was who you were inside, there was no way to get around popular opinion - especially when those opinions included those of the American government. Until Sam agreed to Ross's conditions, he was still technically under violation of the Sokovia Accords, and there was nothing he could do to escape that. He had the shield, but that didn't mean he was Captain America.

"Fuck Ross," Sam growled. This time, the shield managed to skim straight over the grass - a little low, but better than he'd been doing. From the corner of his vision, Steve flashed him a proud smile.

"See? I told you."

It was, Sam realized, not unlike skipping a stone across water, if the stone was actually a shield and there was no water involved whatsoever. There was a moment where everything seemed to come together in the throw, a flash of certainty. He put more muscle behind it, found that point, and loosed the shield.

"Shit," Steve breathed, gazing at the shield lodged deep in a tree trunk. Sam just grinned at him and pulled him in for a kiss.


	19. Formalwear - Stephen/Tony

"I didn't think you owned anything that nice." Tony eyed Stephen, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the other man's well-tailored tuxedo. He'd invited him to this charity gala so that he wouldn't be bored to tears, and for once, Stephen had actually said yes instead of coming up with anything else as an excuse. (He'd asked him in front of Wong, which might have had something to do with it; Tony was pretty sure Wong was on his side, or at least on the side of Stephen having anything remotely resembling a social life.)

Stephen smiled enigmatically. "I have an extensive wardrobe," he replied smoothly. "Plus I can travel nearly anywhere in the blink of an eye, and I can create currency as needed. Trust me, Tony, fitting in isn't a problem."

"Not with a suit like that, it isn't." While it didn't display Stephen's assets in the way most of Tony's bespoke suits did, that was Tony being Tony, and Stephen's outfit was more than adequate when it came to showcasing his looks. His jacket and pants were of a dark steel grey, while both his tie and waistcoat were deep red with intricate gold embroidery. It was, of course, in keeping with his usual color scheme, but it also looked damn good.

Stephen glanced down at Tony's shoes briefly as they made their way to their table. "Are you wearing heels?" he asked quietly.

"The term is lifts," Tony retorted. "Although if you want me in heels, you only have to say the word, Strange." He batted his eyelashes outrageously - damn him, Strange knew Tony was sensitive about his height, and he wanted to change the subject.

"Tony, if I wanted you in heels, it would take much less work than that." He chuckled quietly to himself. "But I like you just the way you are." Stephen placed a reassuring hand on his arm briefly before he sat down.

Tony's cheeks colored slightly, and he hid his face in a champagne flute he snagged from a passing tray. "No need to flatter me."

"Believe me, I try to avoid stroking your ego - especially in public." Stephen made an appreciative noise at the quality of the alcohol, which Tony suspected was another reason why he'd agreed to come. Stephen had a fondness for good booze, one that Tony tended to indulge; it made the sorcerer easier to get along with, and Tony simply liked sharing things with his friends. Most of them didn't know a good scotch from a hole in the ground, but Stephen did.

"Plenty of things you can stroke in private." Tony leered at him, and Stephen just sighed.

"Yes, Tony, you don't have to point out my innuendo. I'm well aware of it."

The evening flew by, Tony and Stephen kept ordering drinks and made scathing observations about the other people around them - Stephen also aimed a few barbs at Tony, because that was simply how he was - and before he knew it, Tony found himself at the door of his hotel room.

"You can come in for a nightcap if you want," he offered. "Slip out of your suit."

Stephen looked a little surprised; he was already raising his hand to inscribe a portal back to the Sanctum in the air. "Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it would be rude of me to refuse."

"Terribly," Tony agreed, and he barely waited for him to step inside before he pushed him up against the door and kissed him. Halfway through the kiss, he realized the material under his hands was softer than it should have been, and definitely some kind of cotton. He broke away and blinked, trying to focus.

"Hmm?" Stephen's eyes were closed, and he looked like a cat being scratched under the chin. Long fingers traced Tony's cheekbones, the line of his goatee.

"Your clothes," Tony accused him breathlessly.

Strange chuckled. "I can't believe it took you all night to figure it out, Tony. Although I certainly didn't expect you to keep your hands to yourself that long." He made a gesture with one hand and the illusion vanished; he was just in a long-sleeved t-shirt and loose-fitting pants.

"Jackass," Tony huffed.

"You just wanted to look at me dressed up," Stephen pointed out pragmatically. "You did, so there's nothing to complain about, is there?"

"Half the fun of these outfits is peeling someone out of them later." Tony made a face. He'd really been looking forward to taking Stephen's clothes off layer by layer, teasing him slowly until he got more and more worked up.

"Oh, I'm well aware." He gave Tony a crooked smile as his tie suddenly came undone, slithering through his collar and dropping to the floor. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to enjoy it enough for both of us."


	20. Dancing - Stephen/Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously stolen starting dialogue is obvious. ;)

"Do I dance?" Stephen raised his eyebrows. "I've been around a bit. I think you can assume that at some point, I've danced."

Tony snorted, nearly sending whiskey up his nose. "Doesn't the universe implode or something if you dance?" 

The sorcerer's smile was crooked. "Only if I do it right."

"Technically," Tony pointed out, "the Big Bang is an explosion, not an implosion, so your innuendo is scientifically inaccurate." He grinned back at him, inordinately pleased with himself.

"Says a man who hasn't experienced the Big Bang," Stephen retorted.

"Not yet." Tony's grin grew even wider. "But I'm always open to having my mind blown."

Sometimes, Tony really regretted his choice of words around Stephen Strange - like when it resulted in a casual astral trip to the birth of a new universe. He had really been expecting sex, or maybe, given their line of conversation, a blowjob. But there he was, suspended in nothingness - and then everything exploded around him, right through him. He was dimly aware of Stephen taking the glass from his hand just before he would have dropped it, but he was too focused on the matter expanding, white-hot particles streaking across his vision in a coruscating shower of sparks. It was like a fireworks display, but on a scale unfathomable to the human brain, and just before it overwhelmed him completely, Tony felt himself yanked back to his physical form.

"Christ," he swore, putting his head down between his knees. "Fucking warn me before you do that, Strange." Tony sucked in breaths while the sorcerer rubbed his back with a flat, warm palm. 

"Sorry." Stephen almost sounded apologetic. "Sometimes I forget how it can be for people who aren't used to, ah-"

"A constant stream of trippy shit?" It wasn't the first time Stephen had sent his astral self through different universes, usually to get him to shut up about something - the fractal universe was especially effective at that.

"Something like that." Stephen picked up Tony's phone from the couch and started thumbing through it; Tony couldn't be bothered to protest. "Don't you have any decent music on here?"

"You mean something written before 1950?" Tony made a face that Stephen couldn't see. "Ew. No."

"Fine." Stephen tossed the phone back on the sofa. "Friday, pull up a waltz."

"A waltz?" Tony pushed himself up slowly. "Are you fucking serious?"

"You asked if I could dance, so I'm proving it." Stephen folded his arms over his chest.

"I meant, you know, something sexy." And maybe not even dancing in the strictest of terms.

"I'm not giving you a lapdance, Tony."

"It doesn't have to be a lapdance." Tony paused for a moment. "I probably still have the stripper poles from my jets around somewhere."

"You had-" Stephen shook his head, and grabbed for Tony's hand. "I'm not surprised. Come on, Stark."

"Ugh." Tony let himself be pulled to his feet, because the other alternative was being tossed on another astral field trip. "I hated dancing lessons so much. What is this, the nineteenth century?"

"Just shut up and enjoy yourself." Stephen huffed, and Tony tried to pretend that he didn't enjoy the feeling of Strange's hand at his waist, the fingers linked with his. He made it through a whole minute of carefully counted waltzing.

"Friday, could you please change to something more interesting?" He yanked Stephen closer as the tempo sped up, snaking an arm around his waist. "Let me show you how to really dance, Doctor."

"Trust me, Tony, I know."


	21. Buying Flowers - Scott/Hope

"Here, this is for you." Scott proffered a small pot with a bow tied around it. White-edged green leaves arced gracefully over the rim of the pot, brushing Hope's fingers as she took it from Scott.

"A plant?" She gave the plant a dubious look. "Most people buy their girlfriends flowers."

"Well, yeah, but flowers die." Scott beamed at her. "C'mon, give him a name."

"A name?" Oh, god, this was another goofy Scott thing, wasn't it? He took a delight in naming everything, from the ants he used to, apparently, plants. She wasn't sure why - but, then again, Hope didn't form attachments the way Scott did. "Um." She faltered. Somehow, every name had managed to flee her mind. "Steve." She grabbed a name from thin air and immediately felt embarrassed; of course she'd managed to pick Captain America's name.

"A little Cap-plant?" Scott chuckled. "Cute, Hope." He pecked her lips softly. "Come on, let's pick out a corner for Steve."

"I just want you to know that I can't keep plants alive," she warned him. "I think I give off the wrong vibes or something." Or maybe it was because she spent long hours at work and didn't think about things like watering. That was probably a better reason.

Scott shook his head. "Well, you can't keep plants alive if you think like that. Come on, who believed in me when I didn't believe in myself?"

Hope raised an eyebrow. "Not me." Sure, she'd given him the key to controlling the ants, but she was the first person to admit that she'd doubted Scott's potential all along - and, yes, she'd been wrong about him, and she was glad he'd proven her wrong. But she wasn't going to pretend she'd been optimistic about his chances from the beginning, not when she still didn't agree with Hank's reasons for recruiting him in the first place. She loved Scott, and she was glad things had worked out the way they had, but - well, that was just another one of her issues with her father, one of those things that might never get worked out.

"Okay, okay, fine. The point is, you can believe in your ability to take care of this plant. Or I can believe in your ability to take care of this plant. I'm not sure which one it is, but the important thing is keeping little Steve alive and happy." Scott took the plant from Hope and set it down in a windowsill. "Besides, he's a spider plant. They're easy."

Five days later, Steve's leaves were curled in on themselves and the plant was drooping. 

"Here." Scott took Hope's phone. "I programmed an alarm to remind you to water the plant."

"Great." She barely kept from rolling her eyes. "You really should have just bought flowers."

"Yeah, but Steve needed a good home, and I knew just the girl to give it to him." He smiled at Hope. "You'll do all right."

"Steve needs to go to the shelter," Hope muttered under her breath. She noticed Scott had stuck a vinyl Captain America shield sticker to the pot when she wasn't looking, and she sighed and poured some water over the soil.

Another week passed, and Steve had made a full recovery from Hope's inadvertent neglect. Out of guilt, she'd even bought some indoor plant fertilizer and mixed some in with the water, and the leaves had grown a few inches. Scott hugged her tightly when he saw the progress she'd made, and Hope felt a little bit like a kid with an egg baby in home ec - although she'd done pretty well on that assignment, actually. Definitely better than raising a plant.

"Look! Steve's having babies!" Scott cooed over the baby spider plant resting in his palm. The original plant had been repotted, and it was now hanging from the ceiling close to the windowsill where Scott had put it originally. "Maybe we should call the plant Stephanie. Or Stevie."

"You're the one who assigned the plant a gender in the first place," Hope felt obligated to point out. She wasn't even going to go into plant biology and reproduction, because that kind of thing was an obvious waste of her time. "You can have one of the babies and name it Stephanie."

"Aww, that's so cute." Scott beamed at her. "We can have matching plants."

"Very romantic," Hope deadpanned. She still wasn't sure how she felt about the whole plant thing, but at least she'd kept it alive this long - and, hell, if there was hope for a plant, then there was hope for her relationship, too.


	22. Fighting Together - Tony/Hope

This was Hope's first time seeing the Iron Man suit up close, but she had no trouble figuring out who was in it - not with the arc reactor glowing blue in the center. (While it could have been someone else, only Tony Stark was capable of that particular level of ostentatiousness.) She hovered near the edge of the building as she waited for Stane to stop talking - of course it was fucking Stane, who'd always rubbed her just the wrong way, who'd always been just a little too solicitous. And of course he'd been working with Darren and things had blown up into one giant clusterfuck. She was pretty sure that Darren's government contacts who were interested in buying the particles and Yellowjacket suits were Stane's buddies, too. Together, they were poised to take over the Department of Defense contracts Tony had recently backed out of.

Hope winced as the much larger armor punched Tony back into a bus. It looked solid, but there had to be a crack somewhere she could use to slip inside.

"So, you were holding out on me all along." Darren took the helmet off of his suit, holding it under one arm. "Trying to play both sides until you figured out who would come out on top, huh? Too bad you backed the wrong one."

"Oh, Darren." Hope gave him a withering smile from inside her helmet. She knew better than to take it off while she was under the effect of the particles. "I was only ever on my own side. You were just too self-absorbed to figure that out." They'd both manipulated each other into a goddamn mess, and Hope hadn't been able to extricate herself for fear that Darren would find her out - so she'd used Tony to distract him while she plotted in the background, tried to do her best to convince Hank that she had to be the one to take Darren down. 

And that - well, that hadn't ended so well, since Darren had kidnapped Hank and Stane had tried to kill Tony (again). So, yeah, she'd fucked up a bit there, but she could kick herself for that later. Right now, she had a job to do.

"Looks like Stark picked the wrong side, too." Darren activated the lasers on his suit, and Hope dodged to the side. "Too bad he couldn't just stay dead."

"Why are both of you assholes talking so much?" Hope sighed and cast a glance into the building beneath her. Thankfully, Pepper and that federal agent had gotten to the reactor to save Hank just in time; Stane and Cross had been distracted by Tony's arrival. "Can't I just punch you in the face and be done with it?" Because, wow, she'd wanted to punch Darren in the face for a long time now, preferably after telling him how godawful he was in bed.

She spotted a break in the melee between the two larger suits and threw herself off the side of the building, totally ignoring Darren for the moment. Instead, she slipped in a crack in the shoulder joint of Stane's suit and started to disconnect wires. Others, she shorted out with a jolt from her wrist blasters.

"What the fu-" she heard from above her. Hope smiled to herself.

"Having some technical difficulties?" Tony taunted Stane. "Should've tested that suit first."

"I should've ripped that arc reactor out of your chest when you came back," Stane growled. "But you taught me an important lesson about outsourcing."

"Always with the talking," Hope muttered. She darted back out, barely managing to cling to a streak of red that flew by. It was just in the nick of time, because she could tell that they were gaining altitude.

"So, JARVIS tells me we have a stowaway." The comms in her helmet crackled with Tony's voice. "I'm hoping this isn't Cross, although if it is, you're gonna be in for a lot of tiny dick jokes while you try to kill me."

"I'm not here to kill you, although I might punch you when this is all over."

"Hope?" Tony sounded surprised. "Okay, clearly I'm not the only one keeping secrets."

"No, just the worst," she retorted archly.

"Right, well, now I know what that cryptic shit about family secrets in that dead drop communique you left was - yes, I read it, you can't leave me an encrypted scavenger hunt and tell me to solve it if you disappear suddenly and expect me to just leave it alone."

That had, admittedly, been a flaw Hope had anticipated, but at the time, there had been no way to avoid it. Tony was the only person she'd been willing to trust with even that much information.

"So, Pym Particles, huh?"

"It's a long story. Can we please stop talking and focus on kicking ass and staying alive?"

"Sounds like a plan."


	23. Wildcard - Steve/Sam

"I didn't know they could make a man grow wings." Steve ran his fingers along the edge of Sam's feathers, amazement plain on his face. "You grew them, right? They weren't sewn on?"

Sam laughed at the notion of doctors stitching a giant pair of bird wings onto his back, like the reality was any less ridiculous. "Yeah, it was- hell, I don't know how they did it." There had been all sorts of injections, exposure to god knew what radioactive material - nothing that had been safe or medically advisable, in retrospect, but he'd signed up for it nonetheless. And it had hurt like hell, sprouting new limbs from his back, growing bone and muscle where there hadn't been any before. He wasn't sure how his body had rearranged itself to form new joints, new tendons - wasn't sure what they'd done to his brain to teach him how to fly at an instinctive level. But once his wings had stopped growing, he'd taken to the air and never looked back.

"They're beautiful, Sam." Steve's eyes were wide, his tone reverent, and the sound of his voice made Sam shiver - or maybe that was the way Steve slid his fingers through his plumage, stroked the tender skin along the top of his wings. Riley had done the same thing, and the touch still made him hard, even though he tried not to think about Riley (about the burst of feathers in the air, the blood spattering as he'd crumpled like a pigeon hitting a window).

"It's just science." Sam flashed him a crooked smile. "You know how that is, being a lab rat."

"Yeah, I do." Steve licked his lips nervously. "You- you like having your wings touched, don't you?" A blush stained his cheeks, dipped below the neckline of his undershirt. It was adorable, seeing Captain America, honest to god war hero, blush like a teenager, and Sam desperately wanted to make him do it as much as he could.

Sam shifted slightly on the bed, cupped one wing around Steve's broad shoulders to keep him close. "You could say that." His feathers brushed Steve's waist, and the tip of his wing hung down past his thigh. He'd already discarded his own shirt; he didn't see the need to have one on when he was at home, and he'd figured Steve wouldn't mind. One thing had led to another, and, well, here they were.

Steve buried his fingers in the downy feathers at the base of Sam's wings, that spot in the middle of his back that Sam could never reach himself, and Sam groaned, letting his head fall forward. "God, just keep doing that."

"I could," Steve agreed, "but there's a lot of ground to cover." He grinned slyly at Sam. "And I wanna see what you like best."


	24. Making Up - Tony/Hope

"You know you're the closest thing I have to a friend, right?" Hope let her fingers linger on the glowing center of the arc reactor. "Also, the whole Iron Man thing was super obvious all along."

"Okay, number one-" Tony ticked his points off on his fingers. "Number one, that's kinda sad, even for you. And number two, that's just because you have to be right all the time. Number three, don't make fun of Iron Man when you don't even have a superhero name."

She took an alcohol wipe and used it to wipe a scrape on Tony's cheekbone. "The Wasp." She didn't elaborate; it wasn't something Tony needed to know just yet. She was still processing everything herself, and she wasn't sure how she felt about all of it. But what Hope knew was that she was using her mother's pseudonym. It just seemed right. "And I'm not a superhero. I just- it was a one-time thing."

Tony looked unconvinced. "To save my life."

"Yeah, well." Hope shrugged. "Don't tell anyone, but I don't actually hate you." She hadn't even started unpacking her feelings about Tony yet, but hate was, surprisingly, not among them. Sure, he drove her crazy most of the time, but he had a good heart somewhere in there. At least, she thought he did. "Plus I had to save Hank, too."

"Both terrible arguments." Tony's lips quirked into a smile as he pushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. "Because if there's anyone you hate more than me, it's your father."

Well, he wasn't wrong about that, either. "Not enough to watch him get killed." She sighed. "There's...a long story behind everything. I have to tell you later - I will tell you, I promise. I just can't do it right now." Hope needed a drink, a shower, and a nap, not necessarily in that order. But right now, she was on top of Tony Stark, and she had no plans of moving anytime soon. After everything that had happened since he'd come back from Afghanistan, his secretive attempt at a double life, her own plan to stop Darren, it was nice to simply be with him.

God, she was getting sappy. It was embarrassing.

"You know, it's kinda hot, the idea of being a crime-fighting duo." Tony smirked up at her. "All that adrenaline-fueled sex-"

"You read too many comic books." Because she'd just been in a fight for her life, and sex was about the last thing on her mind right now, half-naked Tony or not. Hope rolled off of him and to one side, nudging him with her shoulder. "And I'm not fighting crime."

"Yet. C'mon, Iron Man and the Wasp. It has a great ring to it."

"You just want to be Captain America." She'd seen the shrine he liked to pretend didn't exist, the one that had all the original comics. "Who, might I add, didn't have that ladykiller vibe in his comics."

"Have you even seen pictures of Steve Rogers? Those fucking shoulders?" Tony snorted. "Tell me you wouldn't have sex with him."

Hope shrugged. Of course she'd seen pictures of Captain America, and, well, Tony was probably right. But Tony also didn't have broad shoulders and a bigger cup size than some women. "I'm just saying, it wasn't in the comics. Which I definitely have not read."

"Liar."

"Maybe we should talk more about your crush on Captain America. Should I be jealous?" 

"Ooh, I didn't know we were at the point of jealousy," Tony retorted. "You move fast, van Dyne."

"You're such a fucking idiot, Stark." Hope rolled half on top of him again and caught his lips in a kiss, and Tony's hands instinctively came up to brace her. "I'm going to make popcorn to watch your press conference tomorrow."

"Good," he murmured against her lips. "It'll be a hell of a time."


End file.
